sleepy hallow (alternitive ending)
by deadcandance106
Summary: i made this for school one day as a project, this is my first time publishing a story on this site so please comment and give me some feedback thanks. this story is nothing new...


The alternative ending for "Sleepy Hollow"

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought the whistle was answered. Intimidated he strode along the dark infested woods with his morose grey nosed steed, the wind blew along his brunet locks making him think that the hand of a ghostly maiden was touching him. Silently he looked around himself half petrified; the leaves began to taunt him almost ceaselessly.

His glassy eyes were hazed over from disappointment and heartbreak to primordial fear. His eyes caught small beams of light; his mind gravitated towards the wild imaginations of willow-the-wisps who are thought to lure away spirits to their death. The light continued to move, his thoughts sustained on the supernatural. Maybe this time it was the unfortunate woman who had perished in the snow; Ichabod became agitated with his growing tension. He gave Gunpowder another set of sturdy kicks in the ribs with the hope that he would speed, the animal would not budge but a little accompanying his decision with a snort.

The light was growing closer; Ichabod's heart began to jump about causing the man to shake tremendously. The light revealed itself as to being no more than a lightning bug. A torrent of relief came over Ichabod as soon as he realized and continued to walk onward. Within only a few moments of his walk, his fears and anxieties grew again; hesitantly he looked around him seeing shadows and shapes thinking that vampires lurked behind them ready to make him into a Nosferatu. Images of grotesque ghoulish figures, shape shifting witches, and menacing werewolves made their presence known to the poor Ichabod Crane.

Silent twitches from small twigs that hung from the surrounding oak trees teased and snickered at him as he tried to head along. His steed grunted in dismay at the thought of having to carrying his short term master late after not having its meal of stale or fresh stall hay; Ichabod's ears were put on high alert as he heard mysterious hoof tracks. Within an instant, he had thought of Bram Bone's story of the headless horseman; alerted he began to look once more but no sign was made to his theory.

The sound of the hoofs ceased for only a moment, which tempered the man's phobias. Soon afterwards they were heard again, there was no stopping Ichabod he kicked his hoarse hard; the animal screamed in pain and did not move.

The hoarse steps were coming closer; still the man was desperate to get away. Like shadows within shadows, the mysterious figure upon these galloping hooves weaved his way among these crying trees without being terribly seen. The only thing Ichabod could see of this specter was hastened shades.

He tried to bring his wits together and try his best to depart these solemn woods but it was of futile use, his hoarse frenzied at the specter's distant shadow and reared Ichabod off of the saddle. By now his fright had completely overtaken him; he flew the opposite way from the hoarse and ran back deeper through the woods.

Taking sudden turns to avoid the monster, the sounds of his flailing hoarse could still be heard to his ears. He was now lost inside of the tangled mass of wood, the moon above him marveled in a slight glow of malevolence hidden beneath sheaths of woven black clouds.

A few moments the hoarse was heard of no more; Ichabod began to grow slight concerns of old Gunpowder, and hoped that he would eventually assemble together through their mutual fears of this chasing mass. Ichabod's senses blessed him once again; he ran farther into the forest and chanced upon an open log big enough to hide his slender tall being inside.

He slid inside accompanied with deep smell of decaying earth and fallen leaves. His hands felt the skeletons of these fallen leaves crunch inside of his palms along with the coolness of the darkened soil. His form was a successful fit, snuggly his shoulders touched the roof of the log hoping not encroach on any insect. His eyes narrowed for the erected shadow and perhaps maybe Gunpowder but nothing, his breathing increased with the incessant need for panicked tears.

He quieted these feelings for brief moments and convinced himself that this was all false that indeed there were no ghosts in Sleepy Hallow and that perhaps he was letting his fears have the best of his mind. He harkened for the faint hoofs of the nearly dead Gunpowder, sounds of naying could be heard softly along the wind.

Soon the sound of hoofs made their way near Ichabod's sanctuary; naturally after his own persuasions, he crept out of his decayed log and looked about himself expecting to see his somnolent grey speckled steed. He continued observing for his elderly stallion, but there was no trace of it; hoofs could be heard again almost behind him this time.

Instinctively Ichabod turned his body round and saw the shapeless thing mounted on a fading black charger. Ichabod froze in sheer terror not knowing what to do but to gape at the figure. The specter was indeed menacing, it carried a long sheathed sword from that Great War, and its clothing had been worn and tattered from decades of loving death.

The charger faded from the deepest of black to the whitest of grey, its mane flowed gracefully almost in contrast with its master; it held the emaciated tone of decay for the bones upon its legs and ribs began to show through the skin.

But wait dear reader, for there was more to this evil being that Ichabod held in his eyes; to start with the steed had eyes like that of red burning coals but strangely, barely any temperament. Its master that the beast had borne upon its back was missing his head and held only the forces of wind and air to replace it.

Ichabod flew away in great terror leaving the knighted horror to listlessly wander after him, along inside of the woods the man tried to compute a way of escape. The hessian knight found a scent with the guidance of his embraced friend (the charger), they ran steadily through the fog with cold snorts and neys from the purest blackened hoarse.

The beast took long elegant strides despite his splintering legs; Ichabod finally saw the phantom nearing him and tried to confuse him by taking sudden turns. But to no avail, his small tricks refused to work. Onward and onward Ichabod became as determined as ever to try and uncover a destined escape; soon he thought of the small bridge that led its way back to the small village, but however it was futile to try and out run this demon of the night.

Amidst the chaos the ghost rider had now become closer to Ichabod and drew out his sword; which shimmered more than Katrina Van Tassel's silver necklaces and natural charms. Ichabod's mind gravitated towards his likely hood of certain death, but to what seem to be the mercy of a prayer, the specter quickly vanished into a veil of smoke along with the distant cries of his hoarse.

At no point did ever poor Ichabod stop running away even after his pursuer vanished, within moments he realized that it was gone but the ensuing question still lingered. Gone where? Ichabod paced forward and hoped that he would find his gray haired stallion at the time but, there was no such fortune.

He continued to pace forward in mere seconds, he heard the terrifying sound of his monster and began to run away again; however he couldn't see the sights of him. Ichabod refused to look instead he gravitated onward through the damp fog and grabbing tree limps that startled him at every turn.

The moon's luminosity gleamed brighter drawing a small path for Ichabod to follow. His eyes looked downward and quickly realized where he was; he was nearing the bridge. Swifter he ran on, his big feet thumping away in persistent rhythm. He heard the presence of the hoofs but knew this time it was not of Gunpowder.

Ichabod's eyes turned behind but, there was no figure to be imagined. His heart ran heavy with the thought of never reaching the bridge in time before his death; but a minuscule sensation rose with Ichabod's mind, it came in the form of unrivaled hope. Hastening like a hair, the man ran listening to the mounting hoofs behind him.

His heart hammered like that of a drum, he was close to obtaining the bridge to unsurpassed safety. Heavily his breath streamed out in a steam of cold puffs, until the Hessian reveled himself with sword in position to strike. In one seem less strike, the horseman smote off Ichabod Crane's head. For only seconds the body stood limp as if in acute shock, and then quickly collapsed on the ground proving to be slain.

The macabre monster held his trophy in his hand and placed the bleeding victim in his sack while strolling off deep into the forest where the warmth of darkness awaited his return.

The next morning, the local villagers heard that their school master had not yet returned after hearing word from the school children. The following evening the men went in search of the missing school master and came upon the bridge; only to find a hat splattered with blood and the crumpled body of Ichabod crane.

Upon the obviousness of his death the town's people made it a sporting mystery, the question of "who knows?"

But unfortunately for Katrina, how heartbroken she was to hear of her secret beloved school master was gone for she had hoped to bear him children; and make for happy years of him.

Reluctantly, she gave her love to Brom Bone's down the aisle and gave him no children. Upon the eve of his death, it is said that on the monotone winds the cries of Ichabod Crane can be heard throughout the village accompanied with Katrina's silent tears.

~FIN~

Written by: Lauren Statham


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